What The Boxing Ring Taught me About Business and Life

Did you ever have a life changing experience without realising it at the time? That’s what this blog post is about – how boxing changed my outlook on life and work forever

This is the story of how the ring changed everything for me.

I’ve written about my boxing on this blog and book. But it’s a subject I’ve shied away for. Which is strange.

Because for two years, it was one of the main things in my life. And it remains a huge part of my story. But more on that later. First I want to take you on a journey with me to where it all began.

From Boyhood to Thai Boxing

As a kid I loved boxing. Dad and I would watch on wet Saturday afternoons repeats of professional matches on the BBC. I liked watching the middleweight and light heavyweight matches the most. They had the mix of power and speed that I craved.

Years later when I went to University, I was going to take up martial arts but ended up playing Ultimate Frisbee to an international club level instead.

But when I went back to college for the second time in my mid-20’s I knew this was my chance. I started taking a class in Muay Thai (sometimes called Thai Boxing) which quickly developed into a passion in which I trained for hours each week.

Before we go further, let me say this: I trained for two great years and although I toyed with the idea of fighting pro, I decided against it. Instead I did a phased withdrawal from the sport. I knew that to keep progressing I would have to fight professionally.

I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything else.

I left with a deep respect of those who put their bodies on the line for money. Their’s was a struggle I could never have a part of.

I did take part in three exhibition matches. These were non-scored bouts called ‘Interclubs’ with fighters from rival gyms testing their skills in a semi-competitive environment.

Respectful? Yes.

‘Friendly’? No.

The first of these fights and I’d only been training a few months. I was paired with a guy who’d been training about the same time. We flailed at each other for the three rounds and shook hands at the end.

The second fight I went in heavier, up a weight class. I was destroyed by a much tougher and experienced boxer from the local University Dojo. I spent the first two rounds picking myself up off the mat and finished the third relieved to have escaped without the humiliation of a KO or stoppage.

Third time and I was a lean machine. I’d stayed injury free and had started training with the pro fighters in my gym. I cut weight right down to 77 kilos and with the national champion in my corner came out strongest of three rounds against a lighter but experienced opponent. The coach at my gym told me my next time in the ring would be as a pro.

There wasn’t a next time. I quit the sport for good six months later.

But it wasn’t wasted time. In fact it laid foundations for me for the rest of my life – lessons that I’ll never forget. So what are these lessons, and can you relate them to your own situation?

1. Your Perceived Limits are Nowhere Near Your Actual Limits

I remember one time, at the end of a tough sparring session, the coach made us do push ups until we were exhausted. Everyone had to get to fifty. Until that happened, no one could leave or get a shower.

At number 25, I was in trouble. Every push up felt like hot needles being shoved in my arms, chest, abdomen. At 35, I was sure I couldn’t do any more, 36, 37, 38…

At this point in this memory,  I flash forward to my training as a machine gunner in the British Army. They made us run in teams carrying the 50 cal. and forty pounds of kit.

For ten kilometers (about six miles).

About half way in, we stopped for water. One of the sergeants asked me what squad I was in. I couldn’t remember. “Who’s in it?” He asked. I couldn’t remember that either. I wasn’t even sure what my name was.

I started to run, picking the gun’s mount as I did.

A year earlier I’d gone through airborne selection. I was given these instructions by one of the officers:

This is not a physical test. This is a mental examination: Do you have the mental toughness to keep going when every part of your body is screaming for you to stop.

Running with the dismantled gun, I started to channel the energy from that Monday night on the Dojo floor, sweating, agony but determined to do one more push up. And another. And another. And…

“FIFTY”

That ability to keep going even when you think you’re completely done keeps coming back to me.

I did.

All of that was possibly because of the places I’d been to in my mind training in Muay Thai. I’d been knocked out, kicked in the face, head, stomach, groin, legs and got back up for more. I’d trained until the point of exhaustion and beyond.

I’d sparred with international champs and future UFC fighters and came off second best – by a long way. It taught a mental toughness that is hard to learn anywhere else.

What’s the take home from this? Maybe you won’t get to box in a ring like I did. I was blessed to have the opportunity, it’s true.

But you can expose yourself to tough times, to challenge and discomfort. That might be doing a 5k or applying for that job you’ve always wanted or having another child. Whatever it is, your body and mind will be shaped by what you accomplish

2. Everyone Has A Plan Until They Get Punched in The Mouth

This is probably one of the most famous boxing quotes from Heavyweight champion Mike Tyson. It’s stuck because it works on a few levels. At the most basic level, it describes something important about the ring: At the end of it all, it doesn’t matter who did the most planning, preparation, diet, training etc. What it comes down to is who is better on the night.

This has a direct translation into the workplace. I’ve turned up for job interviews well groomed, well prepared and well qualified – and struck out because I was out of my depth, got a curve-ball question and crumbled under the pressure.

In the reserves I saw men who were fit (think 6-pack abs) go to pieces when things got the tiniest bit tough. All mouth and no trouser.

In the boxing gym, I saw lots of guys turn up to sparring with the brand gloves, a swagger and UFC t-shirt only to get a real lesson from one of the gym pros. And never come back. Your ego doesn’t count for much when the gloves are on. You might look the part, but you take a square shot to the jaw and it counts for nothing.

What’s the lesson here? It’s not good enough to have a plan, to look the part, to be prepared. You also need that resilience, that anti-fragility, so that when you do get sucker punched, you can get back up swinging. Work on that (but don’t neglect the other stuff).

3. Sometimes, Walking Away is the Right Thing to Do

If you were paying attention you’d have noticed that I quit Muay Thai right when things were going great. I was top of my game: faster, meaner and more experienced than I’d ever been. Elements of the sport started to come together the more I trained.

But I walked and never looked back. I know that was the right thing to do. Leaving it behind I was able to achieve much more. I got more into lifting, was able to join the Army reserve, start a family and ultimately build a career.

It’s also when I went back to writing. I traded my gym bag for an evening class in how to make it as a writer. That was where I learned how to write news articles, press releases and various other skills that creep subliminally into this blog (and my other writing).

I was able to go on and write my first book as well as hundreds of posts for this blog and others. I saw my name in print for the first time and travelled to an international fitness expo to cover the event for a sponsor.

Giving up fighting for that might have seemed like madness at the time but it wasn’t, and hasn’t been. Instead it’s opened up so many more doors that would have been closed to me if I’d stayed on and fought more.

Maybe you’re in the same position? You want to move on but are scared of what’s ahead, worried that it’s a mistake. My advice would be this – you’ll never know unless you try. Look at what I’ve been able to achieve. There’s no reason you can’t do the same.

 

All boxing photography by Kirstoff Henderson